“I couldn’t help it,” she faltered, hiding her face a little lower.  “He made me.”

“Did he indeed?” said Dr. Jim.  “Well?  What’s the trouble?”

“I—­I can’t remember,” she whispered forlornly.

“Are you in love with him?” asked Dr. Jim abruptly.

She lifted her face with a great start.  “No!” she gasped breathlessly.

He looked at her with a semi-humorous frown.  “Well, that’s something definite to go upon anyhow.  Can’t stand him at any price, eh?”

She smiled a little doubtfully.  “I couldn’t at one time.  But now—­now—­”

“Yes?  Now?” said Dr. Jim.

“I’m just—­afraid of him,” she said, a piteous quiver in her voice.

“What for?” Dr. Jim sounded stern, but his hold was very comforting.

“That’s just it,” said Olga.  “I don’t remember.  I can’t remember.  But I know he is angry—­for some reason.  I think—­I think I must have done—­something he didn’t like.  Anyhow—­I know he is angry.”

Dr. Jim grunted again.  “Does that matter?” he asked after a moment.

She clung to him very fast.  “It will matter—­when I see him again.”

“And if you don’t see him again?” said Dr. Jim.

“Oh, Dad!” she said, with a deep breath.

“Well?” he persisted.  “Would that simplify matters?  Would that set your mind at rest?”

“Oh, yes, it would!” she said, with immense relief.

He gave her an abrupt kiss, and laid her down.  “Very well then.  That’s settled,” he said.  “You shan’t see him again.  Now go to sleep!”

But though she knew he would keep his promise, she was not wholly satisfied, nor did sleep come to her very readily.  Her mind was vaguely disturbed.  The thought of Max had set her brain in a turmoil which she literally dared not attempt to pursue to its source.  She was beginning to be desperately afraid of the mystery she could not penetrate.

She was not so well in the morning, and Dr. Jim rigidly refused to allow either Nick or Muriel at her bedside.

He himself was there during the greater part of the day, watching her, waiting upon her, with a vigilance that never slackened.  She suffered a good deal of pain, but his unremitting care did much to alleviate it, and in the evening she was better again, albeit considerably weakened.

After that, her progress was slow, and finding the effort of thought beyond her, she was forced wearily to give up the attempt to think.  Even when at length her strength returned sufficiently for her to be carried downstairs and laid on a couch in the garden, the mystery still remained a mystery, and for some reason unintelligible even to herself she had grown content to leave it so.  She avoided all thought of it with a morbid dread that was in part physical; for any attempt at concentration in those days always entailed a headache that rendered her practically blind and speechless for hours.